


wordless

by palinopsia



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Cipher Watcher, Deadfire, Finally A Good Thing Happens, Getting Together, M/M, Pirates, aloth is a nerd and gets flustered Very easily, finally a fic that isnt Sad, he Really doesnt like pirates, maia is a snarky bisexual and i love her, tryggvi being his reckless dumbass self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palinopsia/pseuds/palinopsia
Summary: Aeldys is making them wait.Tryggvi figures that's a good sign. There's no point in making them wait here if this is all just a trap.Probably.





	wordless

**Author's Note:**

> finally. finally. my boys can stop being idiots. its the Worst time to stop being idiots but can u blame them. its been 6 years and theyre just. so gay 
> 
> also maia and tryggvi being best friends is my new obsession so theres. a lot of that
> 
> unbetad, mostly unedited and kinda rushed. u have been warned

Aeldys is making them wait.

Tryggvi figures that's a good sign. There's no point in making them wait here if this is all just a trap.

Probably.

She'd said as much in her letter inviting him here. _PS – This is not a trap,_ scribbled in messy handwriting. It had made him smile – Tryggvi had to admit he was intrigued, if not reassured.

But even Serafen – in his _expert opinion_ – didn't know what to make of the situation. And now Tryggvi's starting to regret the decision to come here wearing Benweth’s armor.

Maybe he should’ve brought those candied nuts.

At least the pirates here don't seem to be paying them any mind. (One or two have given them menacing looks, but Tryggvi figures that much is a given – they're pirates, after all. It’s the only thing they're good at.) Tryggvi supposes they blend in rather easily – a party of armed, well traveled kith can't be anything out of the ordinary here. There's exactly fourteen other people in this room and they're all minding their own business – which mostly seems to involve alcohol in one way or another. And this place is a mess, but if this is how much they drink on an average day, it's a miracle it's still standing.

But Tryggvi suspects this isn't how much they drink on an average day – he isn't the only one around here who thinks Benweth’s death is reason to celebrate.

One _hell_ of a reason. Bastard deserved what was coming to him – Tryggvi enjoyed watching him choke on his own blood.

And yet–

It was _because_ their ship crashed that he was stranded on Maje. It was because their ship crashed that he had to work for Clario. And it was because their ship crashed that he found Aloth again.

It's funny how things work out.

Still, he doesn't regret ripping that fucker’s soul apart. And now he's dealing with the consequences.

Or rather, waiting to deal with them. He's pretty sure it's been almost an hour – this is getting ridiculous.

He's picked a spot with a good view of the room, away from the tables, leaning against the wooden platform in the corner. He's got his back to the harpsichord on it, which is easily the most interesting thing in the room. There isn't much in the way of decoration besides a few paintings and the large carpets under the tables, the colors of both of which are old and faded.

Mostly the room is just _cluttered,_ while not immediately appearing to be, owing to how large it actually is. There are barrels and crates and sacks by the walls, and Tryggvi is pretty sure he spotted a steel anchor somewhere. The platform is littered with barely legible sheet music – he’s standing on a page right now. And then there are the empty bottles lying all across the hardwood floor, which is in surprisingly good shape – either these pirates are taking very good care of this fort, which seems unlikely, or it's not that old.

He can't say the same about the furniture, however. There are more than a couple broken chairs sitting next to a wall – which Tryggvi assumes is because someone _threw_ them at it – not to mention the broken containers, and… what probably used to be a table? There's a painting lying among the rubble as well, covered in pieces of broken glass, and rats scurrying among discarded barrels of grog.

And nothing about any of this feels out of place.

He can see Mabori watching them from a corner, sprawled in a fauteuil by the large brass door. _I’m to keep an eye out,_ he'd said, pointing to his good eye – probably thinking he's clever. Fucking _pirates_. So godsdamn dramatic.

Tryggvi had sworn he'd never get involved with pirates again, and he'd meant it – but this is an opportunity he can't miss. Still – doesn't mean he's happy about it. Every minute they spend in this room he grows a little more restless, and a little closer to having a _chat_ with Mabori he might regret.

He knows he's not the only one who's noticed him. They're being watched, and they all know it. It's putting everyone on edge – not to mention they're tired. They arrived later than planned; it was already dark when they spotted the fort. It was a stressful day, to say the least. And now having to wait even longer – it's starting to take its toll on everyone.

Xoti is biting her lips, she probably just wants to get this over with as soon as possible. She's watching Maia pace back and forth between the notice board and a desk – she's been at it for the past twenty minutes. Aloth is pretending to read in some corner, face buried in his grimoire, but Tryggvi's caught him throwing anxious glances around the room enough times to know he's not reading _anything_. And Serafen–

Serafen has apparently figured this would be a good time to confront his ex.

“Syri, sweethoneyheart, I scribbled you missives day and night, declarations of passion, sonnets and songs,” he says, gesturing with arms wide. “Were on account of me being at sea I never had the opportunity to post them!”

“Oh, I'm certain. I'm certain I should believe every word of that blarney. Bout as as certain I am that ye’re a snake-tounged philanderer worth little more than a tug in the rug!”

“I plundered you up a pair of fine – very fine! – snakeskin boots, with the tooling you like around the cuffs and all, but the Gentleman sprung a leak and they ended up thoroughly sodden.”

Syri scoffs, and Serafen turns to Tryggvi with an innocent shrug.

“Tell her, cap!”

Tryggvi narrows his eyes at him, but this is his fault, really. Should've known better than to stand so close. He crosses his arms and replies without missing a beat.

“I'm staying out out of this.”

Syri turns her attention to Tryggvi.

“This yer new captain then, now?” She looks him over, seemingly unimpressed. Then her expression changes, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Say, ain't that Benweth’s armor?”

Serafen sighs, closing his eyes. He'd tried to stop Tryggvi, told him it was a bad idea. He'd eventually resorted to bringing Aloth into it – because apparently, somewhere along the way the crew collectively decided that Aloth is the only person who can change his mind once it's been made. Tryggvi vividly remembers him storming into his cabin, yelling at him about how he was simply _un-be-lievable!_ and was he _trying_ to get them all killed?

“Yes,” Tryggvi replies simply.

“Ye the one who killed the bastard?”

Tryggvi nods.

“So that's why ye’re here, then. Oh, Aeldys won't be happy about _that_ ,” she laughs, nodding towards the armor.

“No,” Tryggvi agrees quietly. “I imagine she won’t be.”

“Best of luck to ye. I see yer mother had the good sense to learn ye that ye never cross an orlan scorned, at least.”

Syri gives him a curt nod, then glances at Serafen.

“Ah, balls…” Serafen sighs quietly. “We be in for it now.”

“Stop saying _we,_ ” Tryggvi mutters under his breath.

Syri turns to Serafen, and continues right from where she left off.

“Ye can’t just go showering a lass with wildflowers and filling her head with verse if yer planning to ship out and never see her again!”

Serafen winces, and shame splashes Tryggvi like a bucket of cold piss. He can feel his emotions trying to break through and form memories, but Tryggvi has gotten used to this by now. He knows Serafen isn’t sharing these memories willingly, and he has enough of his own to worry about.

So he closes his thoughts against the onslaught of Serafen’s emotions, and they break upon him, scattering. Tryggvi figures it’s time for him to leave – he’s not interested in Serafen’s shipwreck of a love life.

He turns around, but doesn’t get further than a few steps when Syri continues.

“Ye’ve been lucky thus far, ye know. I’m of half a mind to call ye out, and I’m no worse than many with a blade. Least then, perhaps, ye’ll give me a lick of satisfaction!”

He catches the way her hand strays towards her belt. The situation getting out of control. He’s not about to let Serafen get in a fight where all these pirates can see – and there’s something about this whole thing that doesn’t quite make sense.

He turns back around, crossing his arms.

“You knew Serafen sails. Didn’t you want him to leave?”

Her head immediately snaps towards him, arms going slack. She lets her head drop.

“Aye, mate. Maybe ye’ve got yerself a right idea, there.” She sighs.

Tryggvi nods to her, and as Serafen finally starts to apologize, he spots Maia at one of the tables. Having nothing better to do, he heads over to where she's sitting.

She's the only one at the table, and if Tryggvi didn't know her he might have thought everyone left after she sat down, but – he suspects she picked this table specifically _because_ it was empty. Hel, he'd bet she was watching the tables the whole time, waiting for an opportunity.

And as for making sure it _stays_ empty – well. You wouldn't approach the one table occupied by only the tall shark woman with the giant rifle. Not with the look she's giving you. Not if you value your life.

Maia doesn't look at him, but Tryggvi knows she heard him approaching – nothing gets past her. It's a relief, really, not to have to announce his presence. He's been wrongly accused of sneaking up on people countless times.

(And rightly accused, many more. He can't deny he takes some pleasure in fucking with people in small ways.)

He clears his throat anyway, just to be sure. He doesn't sit down – he's not sure he _can_ , with how agitated he is. Instead he puts his hands on the table, hunching over and letting his head drop. There are about a dozen bottles on it, most of them empty, some only halfway through. Some haven't even been opened yet.

He can see Maia studying him out of the corner of his eye. It must be obvious, how nervous he is. Maybe not to just anyone, but for someone who knows what to look for – it's evident in his posture, muscles tense and back stiff.

He opens a bottle of – rum, apparently. It's not labeled,  but you can't mistake that smell for anything else.

Maia raises an eyebrow, and rolls her eyes before speaking.

“Calm down. If this was a trap we’d already be dead by now.”

“They're _pirates,_ ” Tryggvi says, glancing around the room. He brings the bottle to his lips, but Maia interrupts him.

“Didn't you say _you_ used to be a pirate?”

Tryggvi finally turns to look at her, putting the bottle down and giving her a pointed glare.

“No,” he says calmly, turning around and leaning against the table, back turned to Maia. “So I'm assuming it was Edér who told you. And it was Esoh who told _him_ –”

“Esoh?”

 _Fuck._ He shouldn't have said anything. He's glad she can't see his face at least, but he's already taking too long to reply.

He takes a swig from the bottle.

“He's…” Tryggvi starts, but he trails off.

Esoh was – is – many things to him. Too many to count, perhaps. Or too complicated for what words can define. Where does he even start? And how does one describe Esoh to someone who's never met him?

“An old friend,” he says eventually, tone carefully even and neutral.

It's an oversimplification. It's the truth. It's a start.

It's all Maia’s going to get.

She simply laughs in response.

“Damn, Captain.” She sounds impressed. “You have friends?”

Tryggvi looks back at her to find her grinning at him, all mischief and sharp teeth. He chuckles, shaking his head to himself. She's got a point.

The silence that follows is a comfortable one. Tryggvi moves next to her, and stands there instead, offering her the bottle. They drink. He pretends not to notice her bouncing her leg. It's all they can do.

“I can't believe you were a pirate,” she says, breaking the silence as she passes him the bottle. She's clearly way too amused. Tryggvi has a feeling she'll never let him live this down.

“I didn't say that.” It's a futile attempt, he knows.

“But you're not denying it.”

Tryggvi sighs.

“It was… complicated.” And that's – not entirely a lie. It _was_ complicated. It's not entirely an answer, either.

Maia scoffs.

“You hated it,” she says casually, not even looking at him.

It takes Tryggvi by surprise. When did she get so good at reading him?

Maia catches him studying her – probably staring at her like he's never seen her before, going by the look of confusion she gives him. He shifts his gaze to the bottle in his hand, and takes another sip.

He glances around the room, and shrugs.

“Look, I'm just saying. Be ready for anything. You never know what to expect with these people.”

“Mm,” Maia hums, following his gaze around the room. “And you would know, because you–”

“Because I used to be a pirate, _yes_ ,” he finishes at the same time.

Maia flashes him a triumphant grin.

“Fuck you,” Tryggvi laughs, but it's hollow. He can't ignore the weight that's been growing in his stomach since they arrived, and it's not that he's _scared_ , but– He just can't enjoy himself while he's surrounded by so many–

“What is it?” Maia asks, interrupting his thoughts and once again catching him by surprise.

 _Damn,_ Tryggvi thinks. _She's good._ He shakes his head to himself.

“I just don't trust any of this.”

The sound of Maia not-so-gently placing her hands on the table startles him.

She stands up, leaning forward with her hands still glued to the table. And as she looks up at Tryggvi, he notices something change about her demeanor, the tension finally breaking surface.

“Then _what_ are we _doing_ here?” she hisses between gritted teeth, throwing a glance at the closest group of pirates.

Guess she's not as calm about this as as she seems, either.

Tryggvi stops drinking, putting the bottle back on the table. He takes a step back and straightens his back, crossing his arms.

“I'm trying to–”

“Sorry, uh,” a voice interrupts him.

Tryggvi immediately recognizes it as Aloth, and turns around to find him standing behind him. He's got an odd expression – apologetic, for certain, but there's something else, too. Nervous, but not for the reasons the rest of them are.

“I do hope I'm not interrupting?”

Tryggvi notices Maia quickly narrowing her eyes at Aloth, like she sees something in his expression she doesn't know what to make of. Her gaze briefly shifts back and forth between the two of them, then finally settles on Tryggvi as she speaks.

“No,” she says absentmindedly. “I was just leaving.”

She stands up, and turns her attention to Aloth.

“He's all yours.”

“Oh, I wasn't– I didn't–” Aloth stammers. “You don't have to–”

And just like that, she turns around and starts walking, no doubt towards where Xoti is sitting on a rather comfortable looking couch. Aloth sighs.

Tryggvi hears a _“come on, Ishi”_ before letting his arms fall to his sides, and watches as Aloth walks up to him. He seems – uncertain, hesitant. He clasps his hands and just stands there next to him, looking at the bottle he and Maia have been sharing. It's not even half empty.

“Hey,” Tryggvi starts, hands finding and gripping the edge of the table. The look of relief on Aloth's face suggests he was hoping Tryggvi would be the first one to speak. “What's on your mind?”

“I…” he trails off, taking the time to choose his words. “Do you mind if we talk?”

While bluffing and deception have never been Aloth's strong suits, he can hide his feelings surprisingly well. And Tryggvi suspects that if he didn't know Aloth as well as does – or for as long – he would've believed he's doing just fine.

However, as luck – and perhaps a little more – would have it, that's around six years away from being the case. And as such, Tryggvi doesn't believe it for a second.

Aloth’s been acting weird all day – hel, longer than that. Ever since they set course for Fort Deadlight, something's been gnawing at him. Perhaps since Tryggvi received the letter from Aeldys, even.

He'd visited him in his cabin, found him drinking alone. Tryggvi remembers the look on his face. It had been unexpectedly soft – reminded him of the way he used to look at him, years ago. Though anything is _unexpected_ , with Aloth. It's unexpected when he simply _looks_ at him.

Tryggvi can't afford to take anything for granted.

“What are you going to do?” he'd asked, still standing at the door. He was always like that; keeping his distance unless invited. And sometimes even then.

“You _know_ what I'm going to do,” Tryggvi had answered, leaning back in his chair and nodding towards the one across him, empty.

Aloth had rolled his eyes. Then walked over to the table, and sat down. How so incredibly _like_ him, Tryggvi remembers thinking – coming to his cabin unannounced to ask questions he already knows the answers to, then rolling his eyes when _given_ the opportunity.

It had taken some effort to conceal his smile.

“You can't trust them, Tryggvi,” he'd said as he sat down.

“I know that,” he'd replied, pouring him a glass. Aloth had taken a sip without missing a beat. “But I can't risk making enemies of them, either.”

“How would you be making enemies of anyone if you don't _go?”_

“I killed her second-in-command, Aloth.” He'd looked away before muttering, “And pirates love their grudges.”

He remembers the expression he saw on Aloth's face when he'd looked at him again – the one where he's biting his tongue and trying not to be obvious about it. Tryggvi has seen that look many times, usually seconds before Iselmyr says something.

That time, though – he suspects she had nothing to do with it.

“Besides,” he'd said before Aloth can get a word in. “You said it yourself. They can't be trusted. I can't trust them not to–”

“Are you even _listening–”_

“I need to make sure they won't turn on us when the time comes that I need their aid,” he'd said, enunciating each word. “I'm not trying to make them our _allies_ , just… ensuring they're not our enemies.”

Aloth had shaken his head, but there had been understanding in his eyes, as well.

“These people are dangerous,” he'd argued, though he’d sounded like he’d already given up.

“Exactly. All the more reason I need them on our side.”

“Tryggvi–” he'd stopped himself, short of words. He'd sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat as he took another sip.

“Aloth,” Tryggvi had said simply. “Everything we do is dangerous.”

It had been little in the way of comfort. And also, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“Oh, please. We both know that's not what this is about,” Aloth had said a little too quickly – but something had changed in his expression as he put down his glass. “Don't talk to me like I'm someone else.”

And that – Tryggvi hadn't been expecting that. It's easy to forget that Aloth has known him for just as long, and that he knows him just as well. CertainLy well enough to know not to expect a response.

“Have you even thought this through?” he'd asked, rubbing his temples. “Do you know what you're going to do, once you're there? What you're going to _say_ to them?”

He'd paused, looking away.

“Assuming, of course, they don't attack us immediately,” he'd added bitterly.

“No,” Tryggvi had admitted nonchalantly. “That's why you'll be there with me.”

Aloth had given him a murderous look.

They both knew Aloth was coming with him either way – he simply refused to stay behind. It would be touching, if Tryggvi didn't have to worry about him constantly. Aloth _cannot_ take a hit.

“You are _impossible_ ,” Aloth had replied, though he sounded like he was mostly talking to himself.

“I'm not exactly great with words, Aloth,” he'd said, throwing his hands up.

“Oh, I am _aware_.” And there it was.

He could've kept arguing; Tryggvi can already think of a dozen arguments – he's been going through them himself. And yet he’d opted for a snarky comment instead. Tryggvi’s had enough arguments with Aloth over the years to know that that was as close to an admission of defeat as he was going to get.

That, and Tryggvi hadn't missed the way the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

“Shut up,” he'd chuckled – they both knew he didn't mean it.

Aloth had simply hummed in agreement, drinking from his glass.

“Good luck negotiating with those pirates without my help.”

“Oh, I'm sure I'd find a way.”

Aloth had looked him over with an expression that could only be described as _doubtful_.

“I'm sure you would.”

“I have my charms,” he'd defended himself – but he couldn't quite keep the playful tone from his voice, or a smile from slowly creeping its way to his lips.

He suspects it had been the former that made Aloth blush. He'd looked away, doing a terrible job of hiding it.

“Yes,” Aloth had said. “Killing someone's right hand, then asking them to help you. Very charming, indeed.”

His tone was aloof, and his expression unconcerned – but his face was still red.

“You'd be surprised.”

Tryggvi might not be good with words, but he's had a lot of experience getting himself out seemingly impossible situations. He couldn't count how many times he's had to make deals with people who would love to see him dead. It's quite simple, really – they don't need to like him to work with him. Having a shared interest is what matters.

And Tryggvi is confident he can make the Príncipi see how their interests align with his, considering the rampaging god they all have on their hands.

Aloth had given him an odd look, conflicted.

“I hope you're right,” he'd said quietly, looking into his glass.

And for the first time since Aloth entered the cabin, Tryggvi had had nothing to say. They had kept drinking in a comfortable silence, until Aloth abruptly broke it.

“This is really good wine.” He'd sounded genuinely impressed.

It had been a bottle he found in the cabin of a slaver captain, stashed among his most valuable possessions. Tryggvi had been saving it for a special occasion, but – he'd figured it would be pointless if he was dead before he got the chance to even open it.

He's grateful Aloth didn't ask about it.

“I know,” he'd replied.

They'd laughed, despite themselves.

It took them a while to be able to do that – to reach that point where they can just share a laugh, without too much history getting in the way. But gods, it had been _awkward_ , those first few weeks.

Still, things have been slowly returning to normal, between them. Well, as normal as they _can_ be. Tryggvi knows it's never going to be the way it used to be – he's known since the beginning. He's told Aloth as much.

It's close, though. Close to what they used to have. Closer than Tryggvi could've ever hoped for – imagined, even. But it's different, too, in a way that feels _new_ , more than anything.

And Tryggvi has been careful. He can't go through losing Aloth again. Not now – not when he's only just found him again. Not ever.

So if Aloth wants to talk–

“Of course,” he says. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just…” Aloth trails off, looking around. “Perhaps we could go somewhere… quieter?”

“Uh, sure,” Tryggvi replies, a little distracted.

He quickly scans the room, trying to find a calm spot. It's difficult when there's so many people, and he almost doesn't see it, the entrance being so out of the way – but there's a small room, seemingly empty. There isn't anyone around it, either. It doesn't have a door, but it'll have to do.

Aloth follows him without a word, and once they're inside, Tryggvi finally has a chance to inspect the room.

Much like the larger main chamber, there are crates and barrels everywhere – no doubt containing alcohol – and a stack of chairs in the corner. It seems to be some kind of storeroom, with a single candelabrum illuminating it. Despite the light leaking in from the court it's still rather dim, but still Tryggvi can see that every surface in the room is covered in a thin layer of dust – except the wine rack. It seems to have drawn Aloth's attention as well, as he's walking towards it.

Tryggvi looks over his shoulder, checking the doorway. There's no one there, and it's a lot quieter here, but it still isn't exactly private. He figures it shouldn't be an issue, though, as long as they keep their voices down.

“Aloth,” he says, softer than he expected. “Is everything alright?” Despite his best efforts, his concern leaks into his words, contorting his voice into something unfamiliar to himself.

“I've been thinking,” Aloth starts, inspecting the bottles. “About how much things have changed since coming to the archipelago.”

“Makes two of us,” Tryggvi mutters, walking around the room. He finds some lockpicks in a crate and carefully places them in his pocket – they're always useful, and you never know when you might need them.

“But more so about how much they've changed since joining your crew.” Aloth turns around,  looking at him for the first time since they entered the room. “How much _I_ have changed.”

Tryggvi waits for him to continue. He's still not entirely certain what this is about.

“For the first time in a long while, I feel truly confident in where I'm going. What I'm doing.”

There's a pause.

“With you, I mean,” he adds quickly.

“Glad one of us does.” Tryggvi tries not to sound bitter.

Aloth shakes his head a little and gives him a smile, like the two of them are in on a marvelous secret.

“You really haven't changed, have you,” he says quietly.

It's not a question, and he sounds like he's talking more to himself – but his words still hit Tryggvi like a slap across the face. Aloth thinks he hasn't changed. Aloth, who knows – who _knew_ him perhaps better than anyone else–

He's not sure if Aloth expects a reply. He thinks he should say something, or ask– but Aloth continues before he gets the chance, and he's grateful for it.

“I mean, you’ve grown, and…” Aloth trails off, looking him over. For a moment he thinks Aloth almost looks _proud_ – but that's absurd. “You've grown into the role of a leader, but–”

Tryggvi laughs, interrupting him, but it sounds more like a scoff.

“A leader,” he repeats, unconvinced, averting his gaze. But as much as he hates to admit it, there’s a part of him that knows Aloth isn't entirely wrong.

He's surprised himself with it, really. Being responsible for a crew, captaining a ship, giving orders – it comes naturally to him, and he hates it. He's never exactly been a _fan_ of authority figures, and becoming one – it's worse.

Aloth watches him for some time without speaking. Tryggvi doesn't break eye contact, lets Aloth study him. Then he turns his back to Tryggvi again, returning his attention to the bottles.

“We have a lot in common, Tryggvi,” Aloth says, like he's casually stating a fact. Like they don't know how deep that goes. “But that's one of the points where we differ. You're decisive where I'm uncertain. Somehow, you know what must be done, and you don't hesitate.”

He pauses, seemingly in thought.

“I don't know that I could trust myself with the decisions you're making,” he says, looking around the room. Tryggvi follows his gaze. It's a reminder of exactly where they are, what they're doing here, and why. Then he realizes – this is what Aloth meant.

It was his decision to kill Benweth. His decision to come here. His decision to bring them with him.

He's putting everyone at risk, and the responsibility is his alone.

And he finally understands. _This_ is what this whole thing has been about. Aloth isn't happy with how he's been handling things. Does he want out? Does he want Tryggvi to apologize?

Is this farewell?

He slowly walks over to where Aloth is standing, feeling suddenly tired. He leans back against the wine rack next to him, shoulders almost touching.

“What's your point, Aloth?”

He was worried it would sound too defensive, but instead he just sounds defeated.

“My point,” Aloth says, turning towards Tryggvi, not yet making eye contact, “is that I know it's not easy, being in your position. I've had to learn that the hard way, hunting the Leaden Key.”

He frowns for a moment, lost in thought.

“However, with everything that's going on…” he continues as he finally meets Tryggvi's gaze. “There's no one else I'd rather follow.”

He gives Tryggvi a meaningful look.

“I trust you, Tryggvi. Completely.” He pauses. “Even if you don't.”

“And,” he adds quickly, “I'm glad we're in this together.”

And Tryggvi is – _speechless,_ would be accurate. That was the last thing he expected Aloth to say, especially after–

But he doesn't understand. Everything he thought he understood has been shattered into a million pieces, like glass on sand, ever–shifting and uncertain. He feels frozen in time as years’ worth of questions flood his mind, converging into a single question.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you haven't _changed,_ I mean…” Aloth averts his gaze. “It took me a while, longer than it should've, to realize that, but–”

He pauses, tugging on his bracers and meeting Tryggvi's eyes.

“You're still the same person. You're still the Tryggvi I knew all those years ago.”

And that's – a lot to take in. He could've meant _anything_ by that, really, but Tryggvi still can't help the weird feeling spreading from his chest to his entire body: chilling to the bone, and yet warmer than anything he's ever felt. And he can't quite think, the thoughts passing him by too fast and too vague to grasp, but–

But there is one, among the others, that keeps echoing in his mind. One that is directed at Aloth.

 _No_ , Tryggvi wants to correct him. _We were in love, all those years ago._

_I know._

Tryggvi freezes.

He doesn't quite understand, at first; assumes it's just another one of his thoughts, singularly clear amidst the chaos. But he _hears_ it in his mind. He recognizes the voice.

There's a brief moment of overwhelming panic that comes with the realization that he was caught completely off-guard, which _never_ happens, _never,_ not like this–

But it easily dissipates with the smile slowly spreading across Aloth’s face, and the warm look in his eyes as he watches realization dawn on Tryggvi. And maybe it's just the lighting, but Tryggvi thinks he looks almost sad.

His words are still echoing in his mind, but Tryggvi figures that's his own doing. _I know_. So simple, and yet it's – everything.

And _gods_ , there’s so much to say. So much that he doesn't know where to even _begin_ – but this is a good place to start, he thinks. Aloth _has_ always been better with words.

But maybe this time – just this once – they don't need any.

Tryggvi cautiously takes a step forward, pushing himself off the wine rack, and finds himself in Aloth's personal space.

Suddenly they're close. Close enough that he can feel Aloth's breath on his skin. He thinks he can feel Aloth's heartbeat, speeding up. He already looks a shade pinker, though it's hard to tell with the dim light, and he's watching Tryggvi intently; eyes dark and pupils blown.

Without thinking, he slowly reaches out and gently holds Aloth's chin, running his hand along his jawline until it comes to rest on the side of his neck.

He lightly brushes his thumb against his jaw, searching Aloth's eyes for a sign. A sign that he's is overstepping here, a sign that he completely misread the situation – a sign that he wants this as much as Tryggvi does.

Aloth responds by simply dropping his gaze lower and lower, and lingering with intent when it reaches his lips.

Tryggvi follows.

Then he's leaning in, and Aloth raises his head to meet him halfway at the last second, and–

Aloth goes very still, as if it took him by surprise. But then he slowly returns his kiss, and it's – soft. His lips are pliant against Tryggvi’s, and he kisses him back as waves kiss the shore; gentle and curious and insistent.

And it feels _right_.

They should’ve done this a long time ago.

Aloth smells like books and seawater and spice, and tastes like longing and tenderness and hesitation. Tryggvi moves his hand to the back of Aloth’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. His mind is blank, Tryggvi realizes without quite meaning to, and he's – tense.

Shoulders rigid and muscles stiff, Aloth is easy to read. But it's not just that – there's empty static running through his mind, and Tryggvi can _feel_ it. He places his other hand on Aloth's waist – light, but still a comforting weight – and feels him relax ever so slightly.

But then he breaks the kiss, removing his hands and taking a step back. He doesn't want to move too fast, or push Aloth, or assume anything–

All his thoughts come to a halt. He watches in fascination as Aloth slowly raises a hand, and touches two fingers to his lips, lingering for a moment. Then he shifts his gaze to his fingers, as if he might find some kind of answer there.

It feels like watching some kind of dream; unreal, as if it might dissipate with the slightest movement. And in that moment, it's the most amazing thing Tryggvi has ever seen.

Then it finally hits him. They _kissed_ . He kissed Aloth. And Aloth kissed him _back._

A light, warm feeling settles in his chest.

He can’t tell if it belongs to him, or–

Aloth's gaze finally meets Tryggvi’s, and they're both silent. There's too much to say, and nothing at all. It hangs in the air between them; the questions, their shared hesitation, the memories past and future. Unspoken. _Words_ are not what they need right now.

But Tryggvi isn't sure _what_ Aloth needs.

He's about to turn away when Aloth puts a hand on his arm, just firm enough to prevent him from taking a step back, and–

He moves his hand to Tryggvi’s shoulder, and then to the back of his neck, fingers curling against his nape as he pulls him in for another kiss.

He lets his hand run down Tryggvi's back, then grabs his wrists, guiding his hands to rest on his hips. He slowly wraps his arms around his shoulders, allowing Tryggvi to deepen the kiss.

Something changes in his posture, and suddenly there's an edge of urgency to the kiss that wasn't there before – like they know they're on borrowed time, or like they're trying to make up for the past six years they spent doing _anything_ else.

Tryggvi quickly adapts.

Aloth removes an arm from Tryggvi’s shoulders, blindly seeking purchase behind him. He soon finds it, and lets his back hit the wine rack, pulling Tryggvi with him. The sound of glass hitting against wood is startling, though not enough to break the kiss.

Tryggvi takes the opportunity to press closer and tightens his grip on Aloth's hips as Aloth places a hand on his upper arm. And there's a voice in the back of his mind saying he should _stop_ , urgent and persistent, but he can't quite figure out _why_ , or concentrate on it long enough to–

The sound of someone clearing their throat sends them both jumping back, then a second time as Aloth hits the wine rack again.

Maia is standing at the entrance of the room, leaning against the doorway. She looks irritated, more than anything else – but there's amusement in her expression, as well.

And she absolutely will _never_ let him live this down, but Tryggvi trusts Maia to keep a secret. At least until they figure things out.  

“Sorry to, uh,” Maia looks back and forth between the two of them. Tryggvi coughs awkwardly. “Interrupt, but we–”

“How, erm–” Aloth swallows. “When did you–”

Tryggvi finally looks at him.

He's flushed bright red, reaching the tips of his ears and spreading down his chest. His lips are wet and slightly swollen. His hair is mussed and he sounds like he's been running.

It’s unreasonably attractive.

He also looks horrified.

“How long have you been standing there?” he finally manages to ask, voice weak.

Maia folds her arms, giving him a pointed look.

“I didn't watch you guys making out like some kind of creep, if that's what you're–”

“We were _not_ making out–”

_Weren't we?_

Tryggvi can’t quite hide his smug, amused tone – even if he's speaking directly into his mind. And he _knows_ Aloth heard him, because this time he intended him to – and because he's _blushing_. Tryggvi underestimated him. He didn't think he could get any more flustered.

It's extremely endearing.

Maia notices it, of course, and narrows her eyes at Tryggvi. _Nothing_ gets past her. But it's quickly over, and she continues.

“Look, whatever you say. But we really have to go.” She finally turns to Tryggvi. “Aeldys is waiting.”

“Right,” Tryggvi replies absentmindedly, glancing at Aloth who is furiously averting Maia’s gaze. “Don't want to keep her _waiting,”_ he adds bitterly.

Maia turns around, not bothering to check if they're following. They're about to leave the room when he hears a familiar voice in his mind.

 _Finally_.

He knew Maia wouldn't let this go.

 _If you breathe a_ word _of this to anyone, Maia–_

_Sheesh, Cap. Who do you take me for?_

_It's your_ job _to spy on me._

There’s a vague sense of amusement that makes its way into the back of his mind, like a chuckle might echo in his ears.

_Trust me, they're not interested in your love life._

They reach the brass door, Mabori holding it open for them with a shit-eating grin. It's unsettling, to say the least, and does nothing to put Tryggvi's mind at ease. But he can barely think about that right now – not after what just happened. Aeldys, negotiations, Eothas… they're the last thing on his mind.

“This way.” Mabori motions towards the stairs.

It's only when they're standing at Aeldys’s door, about to enter, that Maia speaks to him again.

 _I want you to know, though,_ she says. Tryggvi can sense her hesitation. _I'm really happy for you guys._

Tryggvi turns around to see her standing at the back of the group. She gives him a small smile, unexpected yet not uncharacteristically so, before the doors are opened.

He feels someone take his hand, intertwining their fingers, and gently squeeze before quickly letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> i kinda wanted to write about tryggvi and aeldys as well, because they get along Extremely well, but. maybe in another fic
> 
> feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated, and thanks for reading


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